


lamb to the slaughter.

by insomnomnomia



Category: Child's Play/Chucky (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:35:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21761563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insomnomnomia/pseuds/insomnomnomia
Summary: It truly is awe-inspiring how little one can recognize fault and or sympathize, empathize with another. He’s no exception.
Relationships: Chucky | Charles Lee Ray/Original Female Character(s), Chucky | Charles Lee Ray/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 31





	lamb to the slaughter.

It truly is awe-inspiring how little one can recognize fault and or sympathize, _empathize,_ with another. He’s no exception. 

You turn to him, hands at your side. Your hair is matted and you can feel the knot pulling at your scalp. You open your mouth to say something, but no words come out. You stutter. 

“You’ve got nine seconds, kid, before I take you out with my bare hands.” He grumbles, voice raspy with disinterest, not turning to acknowledge you. He doesn’t care, _he doesn’t give two shits about you._ You think to yourself as you hurry off and away from the crime scene. Tampering with evidence is a federal offense anyways. _Holy shit. He’s real. He’s really real. Chucky_ the man(?), myth, legend. Rumors spread quick in your town, but never had one spread as fast as Chucky, the supernaturally possessed doll. You couldn’t lie, you yourself had taken the fruit. Though, you would never admit to your mom the real reason you had been looking up the name **Charles Lee Ray**. It was downright humiliating. 

You’d done your research, alright. And so, what, with your theory proven and all, what the fuck were you supposed to do now? There was no doubt in your mind that he hadn’t followed you, and no lesser doubt that he hadn’t bookmarked your address and saved it for later! You were probably on the motherfucker’s hitlist. There was no bullshitting yourself out of this one. You scratch your nose on your shirt as you enter your home, door slamming shut behind you. You nearly trip over yourself as you hurry to your room, throwing your laptop open and pulling up the one thing that you had _never_ seen yourself making use of in the nearing future. 

**_Voodoo for Dummies._ **

It was already too clear, through your perspective, that simply locking your windows away and bolting the door had been proven poor and inconvenient many a time. So, why not fall back on the magic that makes it happen? Of course, you would never think of directly contacting Dambulla, but maybe, if you were able to pull enough information, and manipulate the affected area, you could save yourself, find new meaning in life, even...for the time being. At an attempt to suppress the paranoia that continued to well inside of you, you gave in and soon found yourself tugging the curtains closed, socks dragging along the carpet as you seal your home shut – so to speak. Your heart beat painfully in your chest as you sat down slowly, legs crossed and skirt tucked beneath you. You hesitate. 

_Does he really care? I mean, seriously. This guy has a life, right? Maybe...maybe he just, you know, tossed me aside and forgot! He’s probably too caught up with his_ _loooong_ _list of victims. Yeah...the one that_ you’re _on, idiot!_ You groan. Pushing your anxieties aside, you begin skimming over countless pages of what you once believed to be utter bologna. It was kind of funny, now that you were thinking about it. _Chucky_ is a funny concept, to you, at least. You pause, nearing the end of page 13. 

The heart? He _has_ one? _That’s ironic._

You seriously doubt he’d still be after a body after all this time. Charles Lee Ray died in 1988, on the 9th of November. That was...nearly 30 years ago. 31, to be exact. You swallow. The only way to kill Chucky – is to _kill Chucky?_

You couldn’t do that! Not alone, at least. You were totally screwed. A sense of dread hangs over you as you think to yourself, fingers tapping idly at your trackpad. No one would believe you; no one had believed Karen. Or Nica. Or...Andy. You tense when you hear a rustling just beyond your window. You stumble over to the thin glass, refusing to handle your curtains at the chance of bearing witness as to what sick twisted fate awaits you and instead carefully press one ear to the cool surface. The rustling stops. 

You count the seconds. 

_1_

_2_

_3_

_4_

_“Boo.”_

You can _feel_ the color drain from your face as you jerk your head back and away from the window, arms raising in defense.

"Aw, don't think I forgot about you!"

You hear a laugh, albeit a bit muffled. It’s cruel and unnerving. Yeah right, like he had forgotten about you. You poor, defenseless creature. _Just a lamb to the slaughter._ You struggle to catch your bearings as you slip from your room and creep to the kitchen. You can feel his eyes follow you, through the cracks in the curtains and you can hear his footsteps circle the house. Your fingers tremble as you reach for a kitchen knife when you hear a loud _thump!_ Seconds pass by, agonizingly slow before it happens again. And again, until you hear the sound of glass shattering followed by a dead silence. You can hear your heart beat in your ears as you squeeze the knife in one hand, the other raising to pinch the bridge of your nose. 

God, why _now,_ of all times? If you sneezed, he was sure to know where you were hiding. 

(Underneath the sink.) 

_He probably already knows where you are, you retard!_

“Olly Olly oxen free! You can come out now, I _promise_ I don’t bite...well, for you, I’ll make an exception.” He snickers. You can hear his short footsteps and the awful sound of his knife dragging along the wall. You cringe. Your landlord was going to be pissed when he saw the state of your walls. The cabinet is cramped and dark, and...ew! Is that _mold_? You make a mental note to take better care of your home, if you lived to see tomorrow, that is. Your mouth feels too dry as you peer through the crack in the cabinet door. 

“Ah, don’t worry kid! I go easy on the ladies. Mostly.” He laughs again, and you swear he’s stopped in his tracks just to double over and appreciate his own joke. _It wasn’t even that funny._ You think to yourself. _This guy is_ _kinda_ _full of himself_. A bit of an ego, eh? You could work with that. Maybe if you try hard enough, he’ll spare you out of pity...or pride. But when you see that red shoe round the corner, you feel drained of all hope you once held. Wow, this guy looks rough. Why’s he all stitched up like that? And god, his _hair_ _._ Looks like it hasn’t been washed in... _31 years_. You snicker. 

“Feeling cocky?” He shoots, eyes flickering over to where you hid. You swallow hard. He tucks his knife behind his back as he strolls into the kitchen. He’s rather short. You could probably just step on him and have it your way. But...he _has_ been known to take out grown men at least three times your size, so you wouldn’t push your luck. You stare at the figure before you. He’s relaxed, calm, and dare you say, _enticing?_

_Am I into gingers?_ You frown. He’s making direct eye contact through the crack, and you can’t help but look away out of pure shame. 

“Taking your time, huh?” You quip, but there’s a stutter in your voice. He grins. 

“I can make it take as long as you want, _babe_. I have a knack for this sort of thing. Though, I assumed you had already been made aware.” As if to prove his point further, he leans to the cabinet on his side of the kitchen, pulling one door open, and then the next. 

“What – what makes you think I’m worth your time?” 

“What makes _you_ think you’re worth my time?” 

You chew at your lip. 

“I can make it worth your time.” 

His face scrunches up at your words. You couldn’t blame him, so did yours. 

“You _what?_ You got a death wish, kid?” 

He did _not_ like that. You’re regretting your decision immensely when you see his frame turn to the cabinet you’re stuck in and reach his hand out to turn the handle. He opens it slow. And then you’re both cringing at the sight. The only way you were able to fit into these tiny ass cabinets was if you pulled your legs into yourself, stuck in a perpetual upright squatting position. Oh, did you mention the fact that you’re wearing a skirt? You can’t tell if he’s trying to convey the emotion disgust, or pity, if attempting to convey emotion at all, and you two are left at a stump as he stares down at your spread legs. You laugh nervously. You turn away from him, your cheeks red with embarrassment before he’s dragging you out of the cramped space by your hair. You yelp. 

“ _Fuck!_ Dude, that hurts!” You moan. 

“ _Good.”_

You hear the front door open. 

“Uh–” You start but Chucky is one step ahead of you, slapping a small hand over your mouth, pulling you to the side and out of the open. You watch as he peers around the corner. 

“You called the _cops?”_ He whispers violently. You are at a loss for words. Chucky looks dumbfounded. Oh, right. He broke your window. Your alarm must have gone off, thank god Chucky took his time. You feel his hand drop from your mouth and watch as his body falls slack against the floor. 

The cop turns to you as you lay in the kitchen, and then to Chucky. 

“Um.” 


End file.
